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Amy
Soil is one of three things, when we are evaluating pH. Acidic, alkaline, or basic. Depending on what you’re growing, you could want any one of them. You modify your soil by using lime or sulfur. But sometimes you just leave it alone and it’ll straighten itself out over time. “Hold whatcha got.” How many times have I heard those words? My earliest memories are of working on the farm, stretching fence. “Hold whatcha got,” because I wasn’t strong enough to pull any more, but I could hold what was there. I might have to bear down and dig in, but I would hold. I am stubborn as an oak when I need to be. Stubborn as a deep rooted thistle, more like, seeing as how prickly my disposition is. “Hold whatcha got.” As I grew up, of course I made friends. Sometimes it was hard to stay friends when we had a difference of opinion or new people moving in who were brighter and shinier. But if you have a good friend, you better keep them. I’m proud to say I’ve had my best friend in the whole world for thirty years now. She is definitely worth holding onto. “Hold whatcha got.” Now it was money. This is probably the most recurring mantra for holding on that I would hear in my life. I had saved, but it still wasn’…
When I say I love East Tennessee, I mean it. I love possums waddling across the road and chickens scratching in the ditch. I love roadside produce stands, how when in doubt we fry it, the sunrises and sunsets, the drone of the katydids in July evenings, the Friday night high school football pride that transitions to a love for the Big Orange, how we bleed orange from birth– if you’re raised right. I love the mountains on display at every turn, the proud mindset of all us mountain people who continue to find a way to get by. I love the lightning bugs, bringing just a little magic to twilight. I love the Junebugs too. I love a lazy Sunday anchored in a holler on the lake, and a fiddle playing breaking out at a family reunion at Metcalf Bottoms. I love the festivals celebrating every season and holiday. I love Jack in the Pulpit and the history of our hills and valleys. I love the books that pour out of people after they visit just once. I love the poetry on the tongues of every native. It’s a cadence, it’s a way of life, our storytelling is communication of our love of the land. I even love the funerals, and the hellfire and brimstone preaching. I love bats on the wing and swallows diving for skeeters. I love that you always know somebody no matter where you go. I love Girl…
I sit hereOn my ugly porch(it has multiple cracks)(and needs pressure washed)(and painted)In the duskTrying to readBut my book is dullAnd my across-the-street neighbor Is walking Up and down his driveway I have observed five tripsSo farBut I am also watching my dogWho has made four rounds of the perimeter While I have eaten OreosSo many I lost count…
His looks could be cruelThe snarl his lips makeThe cutting eyesAlways smirking And he thinks That I belong to himAs if I ever did!That he can summon me With no more than a promiseAnd I will gleefully scamperTo please him But noHe never realizedI only entertained himWhen I was boredAnd I don’t think I’ll be bored againFor I don’t believe That he could be botheredTo attend my funeral If I were to pass And even soHe will be secretly pleasedThat I wrote of him first He was a crushWe both wishedI had the loose moralsTo be so much moreAnd seal the wistful looksThat meant if only~But I couldn’t Even if he would’ve And he would’ve But then He’d just be like all the restYou were supposed to be my friendBut you could never leave well enough aloneAnd you never stopped callingAnd texting And messaging And stopping byUntil I wanted to pull my hair outAnd I let your lips say the lie That your mind had builtTo save you from yourself A pityThis oneI never thought I’d rebukeI thought it was loveFor decadesBut really you’re a cadA disappointment I held you to a higher standardWe still laughAnd remember But I don’t want to talk About the past anymore When we’re not together In the futureAnd I don’t want you anyway Because I see what you are nowAnd what you aren’t And youA tentacleYou let me goHow…
Chester’s Chronicle, Year One, Month Five and one extra dayWell, here’s where it ends, folks. The end of the road. Where we say goodbye….Princess Glitterpants has had all she can take. The Chester hairs have finally made her cross over and there’s no going back. I am, once again, up for adoption. I’m not sad. It’s not really in my repertoire of emotions. Just think– last time I was up for adoption I just had to wait a little while and then I got all this!!! I have no reason to believe it won’t be even better next time! I mean, with an attitude like mine, how could I go wrong? So I’m offering myself here first. It’s not a bidding war, I just want someone who can satisfy my requirements in the most timely fashion. My requirements are as follows: • I am only outside on perfect days. Example: under 80°, but above 50°, no rain, sleet, frost, hail, wind that would blow my Chester hairs in an unfashionable manner, and/ or snow for an extended time. Snow is fine in small increments. Rain is also acceptable if you’re willing to follow me around with a golf umbrella. (Good luck to you if the wind is blowing gale force)• Towel treatment to my toes and body if so dampened by aforementioned weather.• On the days I have to be…
I haven’t talked books with y’all in awhile. I just finished one that’s like all the rest: Devastatingly handsome guy meets girl. They fall in love. They get married. They both have brilliant, successful careers in the big city that has a small-town vibe. Guy becomes abusive. After much back and forth, girl leaves. He begs for her forgiveness and to come back. Meanwhile, girl has reunited with high school boyfriend, who is perfect in every way, wealthy, and unattached. Girl discovers she’s pregnant by dreamy, abusive, estranged husband. They try to work it out. Girl decides she’s gonna be strong and still pursue divorce. Guy is emotionally wrecked and never stops trying to win her back. The author’s note at the end said she wanted to create a strong female protagonist and show that abusive relationships aren’t always black and white. Yeah, I get that. Abusive relationships are generally created by a subtle, gentle erosion. They don’t just throw you up against the wall and break your jaw on your honeymoon. It’s a much slower process that I believe begins mentally. My problem is this. You want to create a strong female character? Well, give her a life that won’t be so great without the abusive husband. Don’t give her her own business with a strong support system of girlfriends and an understanding mom who lives…
If my Uncle Dale were still alive, I would be out there swapping lies with him right now. He’s not, so it’s on me to tell this one. And as much as I wish it was a lie, it ain’t. From 2002-2009, when the weather permitted, and TVA was running “big water” (two turbines) at Norris, we’d go fishin’ for rainbow trout on my day off. We’d set off early, before school traffic, and be humming down interstate 75 as the fog lifted off the limestone mountains. I’d be nodding, hopeful that the fishing yield would be worth sacrificing one of my only days to sleep in. Fords get one thing right- they’ve got a heater that blows hotter than the hubs of hell. Combine that with Newstalk radio, the hum of the throaty diesel, the smell of coffee, and you’ve got a recipe to lull Amy right on to Dreamland. We’d put in at the canoe ramp right below the dam, and walk the trailer through the bollards. I’d load our life vests and pop the seats up, readying for embarkment. Uncle Dale would climb in, get the trolling motor cranked, and let it warm up while he tied on his first plug of the day. I’d stand there holding the rope, yawning and shivering in the mist the Clinch is always shrouded…
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Last week, I sat in my office with a producer I’ve known for years. He had the best dog, a Border Collie named Bonnie.She didn’t do anything beyond standard tricks, but she was always eager to go wherever Al went, trotting happily along beside him and hopping in the truck gracefully. She was a sweet girl and would lay at his feet while he consulted me about his order.Bonnie passed away last year.My client blinked back tears and called himself silly for still getting torn up about his beloved Bonnie. I assured him he wasn’t being ridiculous at all, as I brushed away tears of my own, and she wasn’t even my dog.He wondered aloud how we can become so attached to a dog. “It didn’t use to be like this,” he said. “I mean, I had dogs growing up, and all my adult life, and they came and went, but this dog….and it’s not just me, it’s people everywhere. They don’t live outside anymore, they sleep in our beds! When did dogs become so important?”I smiled. “I think I know.”He waited.I began. “Used to, people would visit. We had a whole lot more face-to-face interaction. When was the last time you went riding around visiting on a Sunday afternoon? When was the last time you had…
